Let Me Be Your Super Hero
by mandabug
Summary: We obviously all love reading cliches, or they wouldn't become cliches. That being said, making fun of cliche stories is sometimes more fun than reading them. Series of one-shots. Rated M for language.


Harry Potter, bane of his relatives' lives, crawled into the living room at number four Privet Drive. Gasping from exhaustion, the emerald-eyed, soon to be eleven-year-old, with the mussed up hair reported in to his overly large uncle. "Uncle Vernon, I'm finished with my chores. May I please have a crust of bread and one-third cup of water for my weekly meal now?"

The chameleon-like face of the muggle began changing colors faster than a hippie's t-shirt in a tie-dying contest. "You finished painting the house with your toothbrush?"

"Three coats, just like you wanted Uncle."

"Cut the grass?"

"With my toenail clippers, yes sir."

"And the cars?"

"Complete overhaul on the engine of yours, and rotated the tires, performed a yearly maintenance check, changed the oil as well as the transmission fluid, and did a custom paint job for the both of them." Harry showed his fat uncle the tweezers and three toothpicks that he had been allowed to borrow in order to complete the task.

Vernon's already narrow eyes narrowed even further, causing him to look like a deranged gopher. "And did you use synthetic oil?"

Harry's face lost what little color it had. "I forgot, sir."

"What?" The older man reached behind him to the bookcase where he pulled the tattered copy of "Torture For Dummies – How to Stamp Out Freak Magic in Five Easy Steps." With a small click, the entire book case swung away from the wall. Vernon's face was steadily changing from indigo to fuchsia as he perused the wall containing a vast array of torture devices previously concealed.

Harry trembled in sheer terror, but inside the safety of his mind he was watching his uncle's rapidly shifting shades and singing "Joseph's Coat" from "Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat."

"Oh yes, you're really gonna get it now, boy!" The humpbacked whale in corduroy slacks lovingly caressed one of the thumbscrews hanging from the wall, giggling like a school girl.

"It was red and yellow and green and brown and blue!"

Grinning like the Grinch who just made off with the last can of Who Hash, Vernon reached for his favorite disciplinary tool before turning around.

"And scarlet and black and ochre and peach and…." Harry never finished his mental singing because with a sudden "Swish" and a "Snap" his Uncle Vernon had expertly wielded the red leather whip **(A/N: Black leather whips were so last season)** in a way that snatched the young boy's glasses from his face and hurled them out the front door. The spectacles cracked against the unforgiving asphalt before a car, three news vans, six bicycles, a scooter, and little Bobby McDonald on his pogo stick ran over them, followed by a random marching band." **(A/N: By the way, don't you hate it when authors constantly put their notes in the middle of the story, thereby disrupting the flow and causing your brain to go "What the fuck just happened?")**

Screaming ensues as Vernon Dursley begins beating his young nephew to within an inch of his very life. Bones are broken, as they are every time the large man goes on one of his homicidal rampages, which happens to be every day. As he was wailing on the helpless boy, Vernon took a brief moment to mentally thank Petunia for insisting the carpeting be the exact shade of Harry's blood, so as to hide any potentially incriminating stains. It had been difficult finding the right shade, but eventually they had hauled the broken and bleeding boy into the flooring store and had the clerk make a swatch of the exact color of Harry's bodily fluids. Even though having custom-made carpeting was more expensive, the employee reminded them how much money they would save in cleaning solutions.

Exhausted from the thrashing, Vernon replaced the whip and told his nephew. "You should be grateful that I, out of the goodness of my heart, find the time every day, (and twice on Sundays), to give you the discipline you sorely need!"

Harry began to feel guilty for putting his beloved uncle through such hardship. He tried to apologize, but found that all he could do was gurgle incoherently. The young boy began inching his way back into his broom cupboard, taking a second to pick up his nose from where it had bounced under the plant stand in the hallway. From experience, he knew it would take his body at least four hours to completely heal from the injuries.


End file.
